


Three for Tea and Biscuits

by Sproid



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Multi, Romance, Sex Pollen, Smut, Spanking, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 16:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sproid/pseuds/Sproid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Brigadier, Yates and Benton: chasing aliens, saving the world, relaxing with tea, and hopping into bed with each other at the end of the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three for Tea and Biscuits

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a conversation with fluffmugger on tumblr, to whom credit is given at the end of the fic for the genius lines and ideas which belong to her.

It all begins when the Brigadier walks into the shower room one day to find Benton and Yates already there, hands wrapped around each others’ cocks and water pouring over their naked bodies as they thrust against each other.

He really doesn’t intend to announce his presence - it would be far better to leave quietly and let them get on with it - but some sort of sound must escape him, because they go from being entirely wrapped up in each other to focussed on him in the space of a second. Their attention is rather disconcerting, not least because he can’t stop looking at the expanse of skin that’s on display and he knows they’re watching him do it.

“Care to join us, Brigadier?” Yates asks, confident and cocky while Benton looks half-terrified and does his best to hide behind him.

“No, I would not,” the Brigadier snaps in automatic reply, as his eyes follow the rivulets of water running over the slim curve of Yates’ arse, are drawn to the flush on Benton’s broad chest, and his mind kicks in with the thought that actually joining them sounds like the best idea he’s heard all week. He counters it with the knowledge that it would be entirely inappropriate, becomes aware that he’s still staring at them, and tells Yates in a tone that’s rather lacking in conviction, “I’d get my uniform wet.”

To which Yates responds, “Generally, one takes their clothes off _before_ they shower, particularly when doing so with other people.”

“Yes, well. Be that as it may, Benton doesn’t look too pleased about the idea,” the Brigadier points out. It’s more of a last-ditch attempt to save himself than a serious objection, because Benton’s panicked look is slowly being replaced with a sort of cautious hope that absolutely does not make the Brigadier want to get over there, wrap him in his arms, and kiss the life out of him.

Evidently, Yates knows Benton well enough to state with surety, “Oh, he’s just surprised,” without even looking at him, only turning as he checks, “Isn’t that right, Benton?”

“Right,” Benton gets out, while his wide eyes stay glued to the Brigadier.

“There you are then,” Yates says, and leans in to kiss Benton while the Brigadier watches, slow and deep and intimately familiar with Benton’s mouth - and probably his throat - by the look of it. That does it for the Brigadier, who can’t work out whether he more wants Yates to kiss him like that, or be the one making Benton make those sounds, but knows that he’s not going to get either if he stands here all day.

He can’t resist running his hand down Yates’ back and over his buttock as he gets into the shower, but he’s decided that it’s Benton he really wants to be touching right now. Apparently Yates is in agreement, because he’s murmuring to Benton as he tugs him away from the wall, and gesturing for the Brigadier to move into the space that’s now behind him.

“Benton here has been pining after you for quite some time,” Yates says conversationally over Benton’s shoulder, while the man in question makes a sound of objection but doesn’t seem to be able to form a sentence.

“Is that so?” the Brigadier murmurs, sliding his arms around Benton’s waist and stepping flush against him so that his cock nudges Benton’s arse. “We’ll have to see what we can do about convincing him it’s not unrequited then.” There’s a fondness in his voice that makes Benton twist his head around in a futile attempt to look at the Brigadier.

“Really?” he says, not sounding entirely sure that the Brigadier isn’t having him on.

In response, the Brigadier presses a kiss to his jaw, and pumps his hand leisurely along the length of Benton’s cock, while his other hand strokes along his flat stomach and presses against the muscles that jump at his touch. A swipe of his thumb over the tip of his cock has him letting out a breathy gasp, while Yates nods approvingly at the Brigadier before he joins in. He gets Benton’s attention with a strong hand on his jaw to bring him back around, and then keeps it with another kiss and hands roaming over Benton’s body, slipping under the water and over the spots that make him shiver between them.

With Benton’s length now hot and swollen against the palm wrapped around it, the Brigadier works his way down his neck with tongue and moustache and teeth, finding the places that make Benton tilt his head and let out soft groans and working at them until he’s left a mark that’s going to be sensitive for days. Caught between the two of them, familiar and new and exciting all at once, Benton doesn’t last long. With the Brigadier’s arms tight around him, he gasps into Yates’ mouth as he comes hot and hard and fast over the Brigadier’s hand, and then leans against them both while his legs shake and he catches his breath.

A short while later, a slightly nervous but very determined Benton returns the favour with a look in his eyes that says he can’t quite believe he’s doing this but he’s damn well going to make a good job of it. So the Brigadier murmurs praise and encouragement which make the tips of Benton’s ears go red, while Yates moves around to watch the both of them and jerks himself off to the sight of Benton reducing the Brigadier to the point of incoherence.

Afterwards, when the Brigadier has to take a few moments to steady himself , Benton looks slightly concerned and asks, “Are you alright, Brigadier?”

The Brigadier pulls himself upright with hands on Benton’s arms, and leans in to kiss him softly. “More than,” he replies, and Benton’s face lights up. “Yates, how about you?” the Brigadier asks, somewhat disappointed when he turns his head and looks down to find that Yates has taken care of himself.

“Thanks for the offer, but watching you two was quite enough for me,” Yates says with a smirk.

“Next time -” the Brigadier stops, because as much as he wants there to be a next time so that he can take his time with Yates, that isn’t actually something that’s been offered. “I’m sorry, that was terribly presumptuous of me.”

Benton catches his hands before he can begin the process of drawing back, and Yates slings his arms over both their shoulders with a grin. “Next time we’ll aim for a bed,” he says, and that settles it most satisfactorily for all of them.

\-- -- -- -- --

Not much changes after that, except that instead of going back to the base for tea and biscuits after a day spent chasing aliens, they go back for tea and buggery instead.

No-one particularly notices or cares, which isn’t surprising. You don’t spend long at UNIT if you can’t cope with the weird and wonderful on a daily basis. The three of them shagging each other in their spare time - or lunch times, coffee breaks, any lull in the working day - barely even approaches the level of strangeness around the place sometimes.

So the Brigadier commandeers one of the larger rooms in the wing of the house that they’re using for temporary living quarters, throws a double bed and a couple of armchairs in there, and continues to turn a blind eye to what the other officers are getting up to with each other in the rooms next door.

He doesn’t bother to have the “This mustn’t get in the way of our working relationship” conversation with Benton and Yates. Apparently they’ve been at it for months, during which time Benton has quietly grown in confidence, Yates has started to think before he leaps, and the Brigadier has been entirely oblivious to it all. If he’d needed proof that they’re all perfectly capable of doing their jobs, that more than provides it.

Thus their days continue to be filled with handling whatever crisis befalls the Earth, England, London - or sometimes just the nearest village, depending on what the aliens want and how lost they are - and their evenings with handling each other. Save for the inevitable arguments - the Brigadier does _not_ snore, thank you very much; Benton will remember where his socks are in a moment, and he’s sure he’ll find the Brigadier’s hat there as well; Yates definitely doesn’t become an octopus in his sleep and half-smother whoever is next to him - the arrangement is a perfectly agreeable one that suits them all very well.

That the sex is pretty phenomenal, too, is something of a bonus.

\-- -- -- -- --

Being the one in charge, the Brigadier isn’t generally accustomed to people looking out for him. Oh, there are plenty of people under his command who take care of the minor hiccups in the running of the base and make sure he only has to deal with the really important stuff, but that’s part of the job rather than a personal touch. Thus when Benton starts to ease his days with little gestures, it rather throws the Brigadier.

It’s nothing that anyone else notices, and half the time the Brigadier doesn’t even know for sure that it’s Benton who is responsible, apart from that he knows it’s no-one else. There’s always a fresh pot of coffee for him in the morning, delivered by Benton if he has the chance or otherwise sent up with some young corporal; the pot of sugar cubes in his office is never allowed to empty; working lunches rarely pass without Benton popping in to leave a plate of sandwiches within easy reach, never seeming to mind that the Brigadier doesn’t have time to do anything more than offer cursory thanks.

Off-duty, too, at the end of long days, Benton seems to know without ever being told that the Brigadier really isn’t up for anything more energetic than sitting quietly in their beaten-up sofa with a mug of tea. Somehow he manages to communicate this information to Yates as well, with the result that the three of them spend a peaceful half hour sitting around in non-demanding conversation that lifts the weariness from the Brigadier’s bones without him even being aware of it.

It’s not that he minds Benton looking out for him - far from it, really - but he’s a little discomfited by the fact that Benton seems so perfectly happy to do all that when all he’s getting in return is regular sex. He’d hate to find out that Benton feels obliged to take care of him just because of what they get up to in their spare time.

When he mentions this to Yates, Yates expresses the sentiment of “Brigadier, you are an idiot” with nothing more than an exasperated look, and suggests that the Brigadier talk to Benton if he’s worried. Benton then happens to turn up that lunchtime, and the Brigadier makes a note that Yates is a) more resourceful and b) far sneakier than he’d previously suspected.

No time like the present though, so the Brigadier stands and rounds his desk, holding out a second mug for Benton to pour the tea into.

“Thank you, sir,” Benton says, looking pleased. “That’s just what I needed.”

“Benton,” the Brigadier says after a few minutes of idle chatter. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate everything you’re doing - the tea and sandwiches and whatnot,” he adds, when Benton looks confused, “But might I ask _why_ you’re doing it? You do know that you’re not obliged to do so just because we’re, well, involved?”

Surprised, Benton replies, “That’s not it at all. It’s just what you do for the people you care about, isn’t it? Being in a relationship isn’t just about sex, after all.”

Benton says ‘care’ and ‘relationship’, as if it’s completely obvious that he’d describe what’s between them with those words, and the Brigadier realises that Yates had been right earlier. On this occasion, he had completely failed to see what was right under his nose.

“No,” he agrees. “No, it’s not. Thank you, Benton.”

Then he sends Benton away before the Brigadier gives in to the urge to kiss him right in the middle of his office, which neither of them would mind but might cause talk if anyone walked in on them. Instead he waits for Benton in their room at the end of the day, and kisses him with all the affection that’s always been there but now has space to grow. Bemused but willing as ever, Benton responds with his usual enthusiasm and encloses him in a warm, strong hug while he’s at it.

Yates’ amused, “Everything sorted out, then?” draws them apart, and the Brigadier looks over to see him closing the door with a smile.

Extending a hand to him, the Brigadier replies, “Yes, I think so.” Then he draws Yates to him and kisses him, too, because he wants to and because he can.

\-- -- -- -- --

It’s always nice when the aliens don’t want to take over the planet, but instead have taken a wrong turn into the Solar System, spotted the Earth and landed to ask for directions.

This particular bunch of visitors are somewhat tall, slightly feline in appearance, and more than a little bit lost. Apparently they’d been aiming for a space station in America, so there’s a bit of confusion when they’re forced to cope with British accents and a field full of sheep instead. Once they’ve cleared that up though everyone gets along splendidly, UNIT members and felines milling around together while the Captain of the ship consults star charts with the Doctor.

“All sorted, I take it?” the Brigadier says when the Doctor emerges from the spaceship.

Drawing his cloak around his shoulders, the Doctor replies, “Yes, indeed. Their navigational circuits need a bit of adjusting, but their engineer is more than capable. They should be on their way soon.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Not that they’re unwelcome here, but Benton’s having the devil of a time keeping the villagers and their numerous dogs away from here.”

“I’m not surprised,” the Doctor chuckles. Then he looks over the Brigadier’s shoulder and his eyes widen. “I say, is Yates flirting with that sergeant?”

The Brigadier follows his gaze to where Yates is leaning against a fence, rifle over his shoulder and a charming smile on his face as he chats with the graceful looking feline in front of him, whose tail flicks lazily from side to side as they converse. “Oh, quite probably. I did put him in charge of the diplomatic side of things for a reason, you know.” The Doctor does not look reassured. “You did say they’re friendly, didn’t you?”

“Oh, quite.” Uncharacteristically, the Doctor looks uncertain about whatever he’s about to say. “It’s just I thought - I mean I was under the impression that - don’t you mind?”

Ah, now it begins to make sense. “As long as she’s not planning on taking him with her when they leave, I don’t see why I should,” the Brigadier replies. “Besides,” he adds, as Benton jogs up to them, “Yates has a habit of chatting up sergeants. Isn’t that right, Benton?”

“Yessir,” Benton replies, and helpfully adds. “Sometimes he goes for Brigadiers, too. Although generally just the one of those.”

“My dear Lethbridge-Stewart,” the Doctor says, looking between the three of them with an almost impressed smile that the Brigadier feels to be unnecessarily patronising. “I had no idea you were so liberal.”

“That, Doctor, is because it’s none of your business,” the Brigadier informs him in no uncertain terms.

Whether it’s the Brigadier’s tone or the fact that Yates, realising he’s the subject of their attention, looks over to wink at them all, the Doctor quickly excuses himself from their presence and heads over to assist Jo in her playfight with the youngest members of the ship.

Their visitors leave shortly after that, Yates’ friend curling her tail around his leg as they shake hands, and trailing a paw down the side of his face before she bounds up the steps into the ship. They watch from a safe distance as it takes off, and then head back to HQ, by which time it’s early evening and the Brigadier can follow Benton and Yates to their room without feeling guilty.

They do in fact sometimes use the room for things other than sex - or, indeed, abandon it entirely head to their respective homes for some peace and quiet - but today is not one of those days. Yates finds himself the subject of the Brigadier’s attention as he strips, and isn’t surprised to find himself pressed into the mattress by him, Benton lying to the side of them and watching the proceedings passively but by no means without interest.

“Jealous, Brigadier?” Yates manages to get out in between open-mouthed kisses, while strong hands and calloused fingers work their way down his chest, rubbing across his nipples and whispering over the sensitive skin just below his ribs.

The Brigadier’s lips twitch upwards. “‘Jealous’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use, no.”

From beside them, Benton volunteers, “I’d say more like ‘proud’.”

Yates looks over at him and scoffs, but above him the Brigadier agrees, “Yes, that’s about the strength of it.”

His eyes when Yates meets them again are dark and intense, no envy on his face, merely arousal, and Yates thinks maybe he means it. He’s convinced of it when the Brigadier presses slick fingers into him while Benton, voice low with his own arousal, spills words over him that that tell Yates what the Brigadier had said to the Doctor, how he’d smiled when he’d seen Yates chatting up their feline friend, how he hadn’t taken his eyes off them as they’d parted ways.

Yates hears the words, and when the Brigadier slides into him with a groan in his throat and a flush on his cheeks, hands firm but gentle as they close around Yates’ arse to hold him there, he understands the ones that aren’t being spoken, too. The ones that say he’s free to do whatever he wants with whoever he chooses, that regardless of that they’ll be here to do this with him, whenever and however and for as long as he wants.

It’s a trust and a freedom and a promise, none of which Yates has had in far too long. With unco-ordinated hands, he reaches out to both them to pull them close, mumbling his thanks as his eyes close and they take care of him.

\-- -- -- -- --

“What are we going to do now, Sarge?” one of the men whispers as they crouch behind the warehouse crates, hiding from the three people on the other side of the room whose weapons are distinctly not of Earth design and who are unfortunately impermeable to bullets.

“Keep our heads down and wait for the Brigadier to give us instructions,” Benton tells them. Cautiously he moves so he can keep an eye on things through a crack in their cover, and groans as he sees the three people slowly advancing on them. Never mind that plan then. “Alright, lads, get ready to-”

And then he stops, because to the side of the three people are some more crates behind which the Brigadier has apparently been waiting with a crowbar, which he now applies to the back of one of their heads with a lethal swing. The other two look around with outraged shouts and grab for him but instead get an armful of their dead colleague. By the time they’ve got rid of him, the Brigadier has moved, ducks their wild swings, knees one of them in the stomach, shoves the other one over his shoulder, and leaves them groaning on the ground with a few more well-placed applications of his crowbar.

It’s all terribly impressive. Benton hopes he doesn’t look as in awe as he feels right at the moment.

“I should think they’ll come quietly now,” the Brigadier remarks as Benton follows with the others in tow. “Davies, arrest these two and take care of the body would you? Benton, with me, let’s see if we can’t find those stolen documents.”

In the warehouse office, the Brigadier rifles through the filing cabinet and finds the folder with a triumphant, “Ah _ha_.” Then he turns around, tucks it under his arm, and says, “Alright, Benton, what on Earth is up with you? You’re looking at me as if I’m the best thing since sliced bread.”

Benton does his best to pull himself together, which isn’t easy when they Brigadier is standing there not looking even slightly ruffled, fixing him with a gaze that demands an answer. “Sorry, sir. It’s just, back there, in the warehouse...”

“That little scuffle?” the Brigadier says, raising an eyebrow. “They didn’t put up much of a fight.”

“Well no, sir, you took care of them before they got a chance! You were amazing,” he finishes, with a slight flush that finally clues the Brigadier in.

“Ah,” the Brigadier murmurs. For the most part, Benton has lost that wide-eyed look of wonder he used to gaze at the Brigadier with, for which he is profoundly grateful. As flattering as it was, it’s not exactly the stuff that long-lasting connections are made of. Occasionally though, such as now, when they’ve got a few moments to themselves...

The Brigadier places his folder down, draws himself upright, and informs Benton as calmly and professionally as he can, “Just doing my job, Benton.” He waits a moment for Benton to swallow and then adds, “However, should you feel the need to thank me, you wouldn’t find me unappreciative.”

When Yates walks in five minutes later, Benton is on his knees with his mouth stretched around the Brigadier’s cock, a hand cupped around the back of his head to hold him there although it doesn’t look as if it’s necessary. From what Yates can see, Benton is doing his utmost to give the Brigadier the best blowjob of his life, the lucky devil.

“Yates,” the Brigadier says. Slightly out of breath but remarkably coherent, he asks, “Do you need me for something?”

Amused, Yates shakes his head. “No no, I just came to let you know that we’re all done out there. I’ll get the men back to base; you two carry on.” With one last appreciative look at the two of them, he shuts the door behind him and abandons the Brigadier to Benton’s enthusiastic care.

“Well, you heard him,” the Brigadier says sternly, while his fingers run gently through Benton’s hair with the affection that’s lacking in his voice. “Get on with it, man.”

Benton makes an rough, eager sound, muffled around the length in his mouth, and does just that.

\-- -- -- -- --

“Sir,” Benton says, coming up to Yates in the office. “Have you seen the Brigadier?”

Looking up from the paperwork he’s flipping through, Yates replies, “Not since he got back this morning, no.”

A hint of concern enters Benton’s voice. “Well, neither has anyone else.”

Yates stands, claps him on the back and says, “We’d better go and look for him then, hadn’t we?”

They try the Doctor’s lab first; he’s not there but apparently had been at lunchtime, and according to Jo had looked very tired.

The worry on Benton’s face clears, and Yates says, “Thanks, Jo. I think we know where he is.”

Outside the door to their room, Yates puts a finger to his lips, and opens it as quietly as possible. Inside, the Brigadier is face-down on the bed, snoring softly into the pillow that he’s got one arm thrown over, still in uniform and only half-covered by the duvet that he was presumably too tired to pull all the way up. One shoe lies on the floor at the end of the bed, the other balances precariously at the edge of the mattress next to a socked foot that could knock it off at any moment.

Benton and Yates share a soft look, and move quietly into the room to sort it out.

Stirring when Yates pulls the duvet up to his shoulders, the Brigadier’s eyes blink half-open and he mumbles something about nap time being over. Yates places a hand on his shoulder to stop him from getting up, and tells him soothingly, “It’s alright, Brigadier. There’s nothing happening today. If anything does come up, Benton and I will wake you.”

“We’ll keep an eye on things,” Benton confirms, closing the curtains and placing both the Brigadier’s shoes on the floor to the side of the bed. “Just you go back to sleep.”

With a soft sigh of contentment, the Brigadier stretches beneath the covers as eyes drift shut again, and then the snores resume. Quietly, Benton and Yates creep out of the room and close the door behind them, then head back downstairs for a cup of tea and a game of cards as the uneventful afternoon ticks quietly onwards.

\-- -- -- -- --

“Benton, Yates, are you on your way out of there?” the Brigadier asks over the radio, watching from the jeep as the last of the explosives are laid around the spaceship. “We’re just about ready to blow this thing up if you’ve disabled the shields.”

After a moment Yates’ reply comes. “On our way back now, sir. We had to take a bit of a detour, ended up in some kind of botanical area, but we shouldn’t be too much longer.”

A few minutes later they emerge from the same air vent they’d used to get in, two dark figures that stay low as they make their way back to the treeline and report to the Brigadier, flushed with success and still half-pumped up on adrenaline judging by their impatient fidgeting as they wait for the rest of the troops to pull back.

Amused, the Brigadier asks, “Had an eventful time in there, did you?”

“You could say that, sir,” Yates replies.

“Some kind of alien plant tried to eat my hat and then sprayed us with pollen,” Benton explains. “It was very odd.”

“Well I’m glad to see that your hat has survived,” the Brigadier remarks. “Alright, is everybody clear? Let’s get rid of this thing and go home.”

Back at HQ, the Brigadier notices that Benton and Yates still haven’t calmed down, and are in fact fairly vibrating with excitement. By the looks of it, they can barely keep their hands off each other while they help out with the post-operation clean-up duties either. At that point, he begins to suspect that residual excitement is not all that’s bothering them, and receives confirmation when Yates ushers Benton away with a hand on his back the second everything is back in order.

Deciding he’d better investigate, the Brigadier follows them back to the room, and finds himself set upon with two sets of wandering hands the second he gets through the door. They get his hat and tie off him in short order, and make good work of his buttons before he manages to slip from their grasp by way of bringing their heads together and ducking out while they distract each other with their tongues in each others’ mouths.

“You two, er, entertain yourselves until I get back,” he tells them, and closes the door hurriedly behind him before marching to the Doctor’s laboratory on the double.

“Ah, Brigadier, what can I do for you?” the Doctor asks without looking up from the decide he’s fiddling with.

“You can tell me about the flora and fauna of those aliens we just blew up, and their effects on human physiology.”

That gets his attention. “That’s rather a specific request,” the Doctor remarks, looking up in mild surprise. “What on earth do you want to know that for?”

“Because Yates and Benton had an encounter with some sort of pollen while they were on that ship, and now they’re, well, rather... frisky.”

The Doctor takes in the Brigadier’s appearance, the missing tie and hat and the buttons that aren’t quite done up correctly, and doesn’t even try to hide his amusement. “Oh. Oh, I see. Dear me, you poor fellow.”

“Spare me the jokes,” the Brigadier sighs. “Just tell me, is whatever it is likely to be dangerous, and is there anything we can do to get it out of their systems?”

“Other than waiting? I’m afraid not. I’d hazard a guess that plant’s pollen contains some kind of chemical that acts as an aphrodisiac in humans. It should run its course in due time, but there’s not much you can do until then. If you’d like, I could run a few blood tests, but I’m not sure how much good they’d do.”

“No no, that’s alright,” the Brigadier says hastily. He’s not at all sure that it’s a good idea to put the Doctor in a room with Yates when there’s hormones and alien drugs in his system.

“Quite,” the Doctor says, smirking a little. “Oh, Brigadier? It might be advisable to make sure they drink plenty of water while they’re in this state, and I should warn you that they’ll probably feel pretty rotten when the effects wear off.”

The Brigadier sighs. “Thank you, Doctor. And I thought my days of dealing with hangovers were long gone.”

When he gets back to the room, Yates and Benton have disposed of the rest of their clothes and made it to the bed, where Yates is buried balls-deep in Benton while their hands move playfully but insistently over each other’s bodies. Their hair is damp at the ends, Benton’s sticking to his forehead and Yates’ curls dripping sweat down the nape of his neck, the muscles along his back tight and tense as he fucks Benton hard and fast.

It doesn’t take long before they come with satisfied, relieved groans, and then Yates sprawls over Benton as they pant for breath against each other. Satisfied that he’s got a while before they recover, the Brigadier sets about gathering up their discarded clothes, and only realises his mistake when he glances up to find them both looking at him with intent clear on their faces.

“Steady on now,” he cautions. “Surely you can’t be up for - oh, you can,” he amends, as Yates slides off Benton and towards the edge of the bed, cock hard and flushed against his stomach. “Just give me a moment to get undressed would you, then?”

Behind Yates, Benton sits up and rumbles, “Hurry,” pressing himself to Yates’ back. One broad hand splays across Yates’ chest and the other slips around to fondle his cock; eyes half-shut but still fixed on the Brigadier, Yates arches into the touches, and the Brigadier’s mouth goes dry.

“Good Lord, what have I got myself into?” he says, and lets his clothes fall to the floor so that he can join them on the bed and find out, assisting Benton with teasing and playing with Yates until his gasped pleas turn from want to need, and they bring him over the edge with hands and mouths combined.

Then the Brigadier finds himself himself pressed into the mattress while Benton rocks insistently against him, looking at him with eyes that want something he’s not quite lost the inhibitions to ask for yet. His hands bracket the Brigadier’s hips and lift him so that he can nudge against the cleft of the Brigadier’s arse, mumbling “Please?” into the Brigadier’s mouth as he does so.

“Yes,” the Brigadier gasps out when he works out what Benton wants. Benton hesitates, and the Brigadier adds impatiently, “Get your cock in me, dammit.” At that, Yates’ head appears over Benton’s shoulder with renewed interest in his eyes. “Benton asked first,” the Brigadier tells him. “You can wait your turn.”

Benton’s fingertips dig into his hips at that and Yates breathes, “Fuck, yes.”

Briefly the Brigadier wonders whether that had necessarily been his wisest suggestion, but then Benton is pushing into him, thick and insistent and slightly less gentle than he might usually be, while Yates watches them with avid eyes. Crowded into the bed by Benton’s large frame, he’s never felt more aware of the size difference between them, and he doesn’t care if he’s going to regret it later because he’s damn well enjoying it now.

Barely has Benton finished and sprawled out to the side than Yates is kneeling between his legs, not even bothering to nudge Benton’s limbs out of the way as he slips long fingers into the Brigadier. When they slide against the slick left behind, Yates’ eyes darken and the Brigadier groans, and it’s Benton’s turn to turn his dark gaze on them both. Shortly after that he’s got Yates inside him, both of them drawing in sharp breaths when he presses against sensitive skin, Yates evidently trying to go slowly but not really managing it.

“I’m alright,” the Brigadier gets out, and Yates kisses him sloppily and gratefully before taking him at his word. He does have the forethought to get a hand to the Brigadier’s cock, and although it’s not his best work, neither of them are particularly concerned about finesse, and they come in a mess of uncoordinated movements and hot, grasping hands.

That Benton waits for Yates to recover before they start again is a mixed blessing, but the Brigadier takes what he can get, gets a glass of water down each of them, and then surrenders himself to their efforts to keep him going long beyond what he’d thought possible. Limbs tangle and skin sticks together as they move, until even their clever hands can’t do much for his exhausted body, and Benton and Yates sate themselves in each other while the Brigadier takes the opportunity to admire their stamina and inventiveness.

An indeterminate number of hours later - the Brigadier is too occupied to accurately keep track of time - the effects finally begin to wear off. Benton is the first to tire, sprawling out onto his back after he spills himself into Yates’ mouth, sighing and finally succumbing to sleep all at once. Yates, too, is showing signs of being almost done, but there’s still a hint of energy thrumming through his body and a need on his face that hasn’t quite been satisfied yet.

The Brigadier rolls onto his side and holds out a hand to draw him into his embrace. There Yates is apparently content to rock against him, head tucked into his shoulder while the Brigadier holds him close and rubs gentle hands over his back, murmuring nonsense into his ear until Yates comes against him with a sigh, and falls asleep.

Just about managing to get the strength to move, the Brigadier shifts to tuck Yates more firmly between himself and Benton, who throws a sleepy arm over them both. Then he retrieves the duvet that they’ve almost kicked off the bed and covers them all in it before he, too, succumbs to exhaustion.

\-- -- -- -- --

When they wake up some time in the early evening, Benton and Yates are tired, grumpy, sore and distinctly out of sorts. The Brigadier is aching more than a little himself, and doesn’t fancy sleeping on these distinctly worse-for-wear sheets, nor leaving Benton and Yates to deal with this particular hangover alone. Making an executive decision, he packs them all into his car and drives them back to his house, where he forces tea and toast down them before sending them to bed in separate but adjacent guest rooms.

The next morning he awakens to the smell of coffee, which is joined by a delicious array of scents belonging to various cooked breakfast items as he wanders downstairs to investigate. Apparently his houseguests worked up quite an appetite yesterday, because Benton is sorting out three mugs of coffee and three plates of toast while Yates tends to the sizzling foods in various pans on the hob, both of them messy-haired and tired but clearly in considerably better spirits than they had been yesterday.

“Ah, there you are,” Yates says, looking gratifyingly pleased to see him. “We were beginning to think we’d properly worn you out.”

“You did, rather,” the Brigadier admits, tying his dressing gown around him.

Over by the toaster, Benton asks, “Two slices of toast or three?”

The Brigadier’s stomach rumbles. “Is four an option?”

“Coming right up,” Benton replies cheerfully, and puts two more slices down.

Following a day like yesterday, the relative normality of cooking breakfast in the kitchen is a boon, despite the fact that it’s a kitchen which has been thoroughly and unexpectedly taken over by Benton and Yates. It’s far from an unwelcome surprise though, so the Brigadier sits himself down, drinks his coffee, and lets them get on with it. They end up sticking around until the evening, and despite their lingering lethargy, he enjoys their company considerably.

The following week, the Brigadier offhandedly suggests that seeing as he’s got no plans of particular importance that weekend, they’re more than welcome to stay for the duration if they’d like. They see right through his attempts to appear noncommittal, very kindly don’t mention it, and turn up on his doorstep on Friday evening with a change of clothes, a bottle of wine, and a willingness to pitch in with dinner as if they’ve always been there.

Precedent set, after that they spend their weekends together more often than not. The Brigadier keeps the two guest rooms set aside for Benton and Yates, because while his own bed is more than big enough for the three of them to sleep on and serves them just fine for the occasional post-coital nap, spending an entire night together didn’t turn out well the one time they tried it. Too many pointy joints, sprawling limbs and restless shifting meant they’d woken up grumpy and irritable the next morning, none of them particularly keen on giving it another go.

Eventually, the Brigadier gets around to getting two extra sets of keys cut and hands them out on a Sunday afternoon, dropping Benton’s into his hand and placing Yates’ down on the table with his mug of tea.

“It’s an invitation, Yates, not an obligation,” he says, and Yates looks up at him with a half-smile before reaching out and closing his hand around them. “I’m not suggesting that either of you move in, but it makes sense for you both to be able to come as you please. Particularly,” he adds dryly, “after you’ve been on one of your nights out with the lads; I haven’t forgotten the time you threw pebbles at my window until I let you both in.”

They laugh, and Yates’ shoulders drop the rest of the way down from their slightly defensive hunch. When the Brigadier sits next to him on the couch, Yates slips his hand over to squeeze his knee in silent acknowledgement of the consideration. A moment later, Benton rests his arm around Yates’ shoulders and his fingertips against the Brigadier’s arm, and they all settle back into the sofa with their mugs of tea while they watch the news.

\-- -- -- -- --

Lazy weekends are inevitably followed by a potentially world-ending threat of some kind, which they’re old hands at dealing with by now. This one is fairly standard as alien invasions go: land, make threats, wait for world leaders to respond, completely disregard the fact that UNIT is approaching with tanks and soldiers until it’s too late.

The attack is a complete success. The men perform brilliantly, getting into the compound without a hitch despite the alien defence systems, taking care of all resistance quickly, rescuing the hostages and getting out again so that the Brigadier can blow the whole place up with every potential threat to the country still inside it. Then it’s back to base, clean up, and home in time for tea.

The Brigadier keeps an eye on Benton and Yates as they drive back to the house. Benton is leaning back in his seat, quiet and calm as they chat, while in the front seat Yates is still buzzing with adrenaline, upright and alert, fingers drumming against his thigh as his eyes flit between the Brigadier and Benton.

It could go one of two ways when they get back. Most likely is that Yates will be a complete menace in bed, demanding and insistent until he’s worn himself out, usually in Benton who is his choice of release in these situations. There is the outside chance though that it will go the other way, that Benton will be the one to take charge and wear Yates out in ways that would shock anyone who thought that Benton’s amicable demeanour and gentle attitude were all there was to him.

It quickly becomes apparent that today is going to be one of the latter occasions, because although Yates is all over Benton even before they’ve made it to the bedroom, Benton is having none of it. Yates backs Benton into the wall as the Brigadier shuts the door, but Benton catches his wandering hands and holds them with fingers tight around Yates’ wrists, turning them both slowly until Yates is the one with his back against the wall and Benton’s hard thigh between his own holding him there.

Bringing their joined hands up, Benton braces his arms either side of Yates’ head and leans his weight on them as he feels Yates twisting in his grip and testing his hold. “Going somewhere?” he enquires, and Yates signifies his assent with a grin and a shake of his head but doesn’t stop moving, rubbing the front of his jeans against Benton’s thigh and pushing in to any little bit of space that Benton gives him. He’ll subside when he gets what he wants, or when Benton makes him, which often amount to the same thing.

Applying a little more pressure to Yates’ wrists, Benton tells him, “Keep them there.”

Usually Yates complies, once he’s been made to, but this time he doesn’t relax and instead drawls back, “What are you going to do if I don’t?”

There’s more request than challenge to the question though, and Benton murmurs, “So _that’s_ what you want.” He leans in to slide their mouths together and smiles when Yates yields at once. “You could just ask,” he adds when he draws back. They both know that he won’t though; some things are easier to indulge than to vocalise.

From the chair at the side of the room where he’s been watching the proceedings, the Brigadier clears his throat and says, “I feel as though I’ve missed something important. Would one of you care to enlighten me?”

“Yates wants to be turned over my knee and have my hand across his backside,” Benton tells him without looking around, which causes Yates’ cheeks to flush as he squirms against Benton, while in his seat the Brigadier does the same.

“I take it you’ve done this before then?” he asks, observing both the ease with which Benton is holding Yates in place and how unflustered he is by the concept.

It’s Yates who answers, looking over Benton’s shoulder as he says, “Not often, but yes.”

“Do you have any objections to my watching?” the Brigadier enquires, wondering if this is something the two of them would prefer to keep between themselves. Yates shakes his head though and Benton replies, “You stay right where you are, Brigadier,” in a tone of voice that reminds everyone who is in charge here, so the Brigadier does as he’s told.

Slowly loosening his grip, Benton tells Yates, “Strip,” before taking the barest step back to watch Yates undo buttons and buckles and shuck off his uniform. Then he slowly rolls up his own sleeves, not missing the fact that the sight of broad hands and strong forearms beneath the turned-up cuffs makes Yates swallow.

Heart beating out double pace in his chest, Yates follows Benton over to the bed and watches as he seats himself on the edge of it, then reaches out to tug Yates towards him and half-lift him up to join him. Stretched out across Benton’s lap, Yates shivers as rough fabric rubs against his bare stomach and thighs, and then again as Benton curves a hand around his waist and tugs him firmly towards his body.

“Alright?” Benton asks, running his palm over the tight muscles of Yates’ shoulder and along the curve of his spine to chase the goosebumps.

Yates nods, toes digging into the blankets, fingers fidgeting in the fabric above his head.

Slow and steady, Benton begins, each smack a sharp shock to Yates’ system, making his breath hitch and his fists clench before warmth spreads from where Benton’s palm hits his skin. The adrenaline running through his veins mixes with anticipation and impatience and he can’t stop shifting, wriggling, pressing against the arm that’s tight around him, but Benton doesn’t let go, just carries on with a hard hand against his arse that doesn’t let up and is exactly what Yates wants.

As his skin warms and comes to life beneath Benton’s touch, he remembers how to breathe with the impacts, to let them come, and feels the jittery buzz slowly fade to be replaced with heat and lassitude creeping up on him. Either Benton is putting more force into the strikes now, or the sheer number of them has Yates noticing each one all the more, but his skin is starting to feel as if it’s on fire and he loves it.

Benton nods in satisfaction when the tension starts to slip from Yates’ limbs and he finally settles properly against him, slim strong figure a warm weight across his lap. The pinking skin of his buttocks is warm to the touch and there’s sweat curling the ends of his hair across his neck, while the sounds that were caught in his throat before now escape in unison with the cracks of Benton’s hand.

Across from them, the Brigadier is leaning forward in his chair, eyes wide as he watches every move they both make. He’s freed himself from his trousers and is stroking himself slowly, but he looks as if that’s almost secondary to his enjoyment of the situation, transfixed as he is on the downward arches of Benton’s hand and the way Yates is moving beneath his touch.

Yates is mumbling now, “Hurts” and “more” and “there, yes, fuck, Benton,” rocking against Benton’s thigh, seeking the sensation rather stimulation and making a gratified sound when he gets it. There’s sweat beading on his back and his muscles are starting to tremble, breath half-rasping in and out, and he’s not had too much yet but it won’t be too long now. The Brigadier is breathing hard, too, red streaks across his cheeks and legs splayed so his hand can move faster over himself.

Benton carries on a little while before he slows and then stops, curving his hand around one heated buttock as he asks, “Had enough?” Yates makes an indecisive sound and pushes into Benton’s hand. “Five more?” Benton suggests.

Yates groans low in his throat, and nods. Then, almost pleading, he asks “Hard?”

“Count them for me?” Benton says, and Yates nods again with a low eager murmur of agreement.

This time Yates cries out each time Benton’s hand comes down on him, and he half-slurs out the numbers afterwards as Benton trails his fingers across reddening skin. His hips lift to chase them when Benton lifts them off, and Benton has to hold him down with his arm across the small of his back, which makes Yates grumble in disapproval until Benton brings his hand down again, hard and right on target.

The last stroke has him cursing Benton, wonderful pain coursing through him and taking the breath from his lungs with the intensity, as his fingers splay out and his back arches. It simmers long and low afterwards as he draws in ragged breaths and closes his eyes, lying still against the bedcovers as he waits for the sensation to fade to the point where he can distinguish pleasure from pain once more.

Above him, Benton isn’t entirely steady himself, a warm glow of pride inside at a job well done, while his palm smarts and his arms ache with exertion. He knows from experience to stay still and wait a while before he touches Yates again, and looks up to check on the Brigadier while he waits. Evidently the Brigadier brought himself off sometime while Benton was occupied with Yate, because now he’s sprawled back in his chair, boneless and relaxed and still watching them both.

“I think the Brigadier might have enjoyed that even more than you did,” Benton murmurs to Yates, low and amused.

Yates’ eyes blink open and he turns his head to look at the Brigadier, a smile flickering across his face as he sees the open fly and slightly dishevelled appearance.

“I hope you don’t mind,” the Brigadier says, looking a little embarrassed but unrepentant.

“Not at all,” Yates says somewhat hoarsely. He shifts and then lets out a long sigh as Benton takes the hint, stroking careful hands down the length of his back and keeping well clear of anything lower that is still tingling.

Eyes shut, he doesn’t see the Brigadier get up and look questioningly at Benton, nor the nod that Benton gives. When long fingers slide into his damp hair though, Yates makes a surprised sound and opens his eyes again.

“Alright?” the Brigadier asks, from where he’s crouching down at the side of the bed.

“Mmmm,” Yates says, and tilts his head forwards so the Brigadier can carry on, a contented rumble escaping him as firm fingers rub gently across his scalp.

A few minutes later, when Yates hasn’t moved, the Brigadier asks, “Is he asleep?”

“Let’s see,” Benton says. “Have you got any sort of soothing lotion around here?” An extremely disgruntled sound escapes Yates at that, and Benton chuckles. “It’s his least favourite part,” he explains, and Yates nods vigorously in agreement.

“I should have some calamine cream somewhere,” the Brigadier says, and goes off to fetch it, and throw his clothes in the laundry basket while he’s at it.

As predicted, Yates protests against the application of the lotion to his reddened rear, but doesn’t have much choice about it when both Benton and the Brigadier insist. They’re right, of course; he’ll regret it in the morning if he doesn’t let them tend to him, but that doesn’t mean he has to like the process.

“All better,” the Brigadier says cheerfully, looking down at where Yates is sprawled out on his front, doing his best to glare at them while his eyes drift shut every two seconds.

“That’s all well and good,” Benton says, “But now that you two are taken care of, could somebody please get me off?” His tone couldn’t be further removed from his earlier commanding one, and when the Brigadier looks at him, he can’t help but laugh at the almost pitiful expression on his face.

“Sorry,” the Brigadier says when Yates stirs and grumbles. “Benton was giving me his best puppy-dog eyes.”

“I do not have puppy-dog eyes,” Benton protests.

“You’re rather outnumbered by people that think you do,” the Brigadier informs him, and then stops any further discourse on the matter with their mouths sealed together and a hand down the front of his trousers, postponing the discussion for another day when Yates is actually conscious enough to take his side.

Afterwards, they arrange themselves carefully around Yates, who curls into Benton with a contented sigh and knocks his feet against the Brigadier’s legs in acknowledgement of his presence before they all fall asleep, exhausted enough that it’s one of the few nights they manage to spend together without any disturbances.

\-- -- -- -- --

Yawning, Benton leans against the door to the Brigadier’s room, who looks up from his book and says, “Yates gone to pick Jo up?”

Benton nods. “He says not to wait up.”

“I’m not surprised.” Yates hadn’t had much luck with getting Jo to go out with him, thwarted first by Jo’s impromptu trip with the Doctor, then by a cold she’d caught, and finally when she’d put one and one and one together a few months back and steadfastly refused to go out with Yates for fear of incurring either the Brigadier’s wrath or Benton’s sadness. It had taken a visit from the Brigadier to reassure Jo that she was at no danger of being fired if she should go out with Yates, and that it would continue to be the case no matter what she and Yates might get up to either.

“Are you coming in?” the Brigadier asks, when Benton continues to linger just inside the room and eye the bed longingly. “I’m off to bed shortly, but you’re welcome to join me.”

“If you don’t mind?” Benton replies, and the Brigadier shakes his head with a smile. “I’ll just go and change into my pyjamas then.”

Cotton-clad and sleepy, Benton slides under the covers and is more than half-way to sleep by the time the Brigadier finishes the chapter, turns off the light and joins him. When he slips an arm around Benton’s waist from behind, Benton lets out a soft sigh and shuffles back against him, mumbling “G’night,” before he’s out of it. The Brigadier presses a kiss to the back of his head and closes his own eyes, and goes to sleep with Benton a warm blanket against his front.

The next morning, the Brigadier finds Yates drinking tea with Jo before work starts, both of them surprisingly bright and chipper for people who’d been out the night before. Amused, the Brigadier greets them, “Miss Grant, Captain Yates. Have a good night then, I take it?”

“We did rather,” Yates says. “We found something rather strange going on in the club, didn’t we, Jo?”

Jo nods energetically, and informs the Brigadier, “There were _aliens_ there.”

“There _might_ have been aliens there,” Yates clarifies quickly. “We were just about to come and tell you, sir.”

“I think you’d better both come to my office,” the Brigadier says, raising an eyebrow. “And we’d better get the Doctor and Benton up there, too.”

The gist of it seems to be that they’d encountered some rather strange phenomena, including but not limited to beings who were either human with their skin covered in some very firmly attached glitter, or who were shimmering aliens of some kind. Quite what they were doing in the nightclub other than ‘having fun’ and ‘making floaty things appear in the air’, neither Yates or Jo could determine. If it wasn’t for the fact that he knew both of them better, and that their stories were obviously similar enough not to be hallucinations, the Brigadier would have wondered if they’d been ingesting something considerably stronger than alcohol.

“Well, I suppose we’d better go and investigate,” he decides. “It they are extra-terrestrial, we can’t just leave them running around making mischief. There’s enough of that going on around here as it is.”

After a bit of plain-clothes investigation - or as near as possible with Jo and the Doctor around - they discover that Jo’s and Yates’ sighting last night was one in a streak over the last few weeks. It’s not too hard to track down the location of the first encounter, which turns out to be a local gay-friendly pub three doors down from an empty shop that’s got a lot of noise coming from it for something that’s apparently abandoned.

When they get in there, they find that it’s occupied by an array of humanoid creatures that glimmer in every array of the rainbow and then some. Then they notice their visitors, at which point they all turn violent shades of red until two of them recognise Yates and Jo, who are able to calm things down long enough for explanations to occur.

Apparently they had to land in a hurry a few weeks ago when one of their engines failed, and although they’ve now got it up and running again, in the meantime they’ve discovered that the clubs of London are rather an entertaining place to be. Their flashiness and ability to nudge the perception of human minds to create beautiful illusions in the air doesn’t go amiss with the club owners, who are happy to let them in for free given the good it does business. All in all, it appears they’re quite happy where they are now.

“Apart from the lack of edible substances,” one of them says mournfully, turning a dull shade of blue. “Only some of your foodstuffs are palatable to us, and we have discovered that obtaining them without a source of income is rather difficult.”

Fruit turns out to be what they require, so the Brigadier radios back to HQ to send some over with a dozen or so men to guard the building from any curious members of the public in the area. The aliens seem to trust them after that and go back to their various shades, thankfully muted ‘in deference to your sensitive human eyes’, while they mingle with the UNIT troops and prove their friendliness by flirting with anyone who flirts back.

Yates is in his element, as charming and animated as the Brigadier has even seen him, and draws quite a crowd around him in a short space of time. Meanwhile Benton looks distinctly uncomfortable in his conversation with two of them and extricates himself as quickly as he can. Catching sight of the Brigadier, he makes his way over to him on the double and doesn’t quite use him as a shield but definitely indicates his non-availability nonetheless.

Hiding a smile, the Brigadier says, “Don’t feel you have to keep me company, Benton. You’re more than welcome to carry on chatting to the lovely lady. She seems quite interested in you.”

“I am gay, you know,” Benton reminds him reproachfully.

The Brigadier can’t hide his smirk. “So was the fellow she was with, if I’m not mistaken.”

Benton huffs out a chuckle, and softly adds, “Besides, you and Yates are the only ones I’m interested in.”

“I know,” the Brigadier assures him, and takes a quick look around to make sure no-one is watching before he reaches out to slip his hand into Benton’s and hold it for a moment.

When he lets go, they stand side-by-side and just watch for a while, as Yates laughs in the corner, Jo watches something that’s either acrobatic or pornographic or both, and the Doctor continues his talks with the panel of representatives over what used to the the cash register of the shop but is now a table for diplomatic negotiations.

Half-way through the afternoon they're paid a visit by an American in a long airforce jacket, wanting to speak to whoever is in charge or whoever is prettiest. “Come along, Benton, you can be the aesthetically pleasing one,” the Brigadier says, and goes over to talk to the stranger.

After informing the Brigadier that he's “Captain Jack Harkness, _very_ much at your service,” he explains that he'd been trying to find these particular aliens for a week or so now, but that seeing as the Brigadier's men have got there first he thought he'd come to offer his advice. Quite what he's actually up to, the Brigadier doesn't know, but he'll take any information that he can get, even if it does come with an inordinate amount of flirting and come-ons that the Brigadier doesn't respond to and Jack seems to take as encouragement nonetheless.

Half-way through the conversation, Yates joins them, the very definition of professional as he stands at the Brigadier's side to take notes, while radiating 'keep off' signals the size of a small elephant that somehow their visitor manages to ignore nonetheless. Benton clarifies the occasional point and says, “Yessir” when Jack tells him to drop the formalities, which causes both Yates and the Brigadier to have to hide their smiles.

“Thank you, Captain Harkness, you’ve been most helpful,” the Brigadier says when he’s got all the information he can out of him.

“The pleasure is all mine,” the Captain assures him, and reaches into his pocket to draw out a business card and scribble a phone number on the back of it. “If you ever need anything else, anything at all, I’m available any time you want me.”

His wink makes his offer very clear, and the Brigadier raises an eyebrow at him . “That’s very kind of you, Captain Harkness,” he replies, and takes half a step back so that his shoulders just brush those of Yates and Benton either side of him. “I feel sure that we can manage by ourselves though.” Feeling infinitely satisfied, he takes a moment to look smugly at the man, and then strides away with Yates and Benton in tow.

Behind them, Jack watches them go, murmuring, “Boy, did I join the wrong branch of the military,” before he shows himself out.

Later that evening when they’re relaxing on the sofa, Yates inquires not-at-all offhandedly who exactly the fellow back at the shop was. He’s stretched out sideways when he asks, his legs over the Brigadier’s and his feet resting in Benton’s lap, where they’re being patted absent-mindedly as Benton listens to the conversation.

It makes the Brigadier smiles to see him resembling so closely a large cat making sure that it’s humans know who they belong to, particularly as there was a time when Yates wouldn’t have been secure enough to stake his claim so obviously.

“No-one you need to worry about,” the Brigadier assures him, stroking a hand across his thigh.

Hackles figuratively soothed, Yates says, “Good; I didn’t care for him at all,” and leans forwards to kiss the Brigadier briefly.

“He definitely wasn't a proper Captain,” Benton adds, and squeezes Yates' foot as he says, “Not like you.” A flicker of pleasure crosses Yates’ face and he stretches across the Brigadier to kiss Benton, too, before he leans back against the arm of the sofa again, soft and satisfied and languid once more.

Benton nudges the Brigadier and points out that in the interests of fairness, they owe each other a kiss as well, smiling happily when he gets it and smoothing back the hair that’s curling over the Brigadier’s ears. As Yates’ confidence shows itself by his speaking up, Benton’s is obvious by the fact that he doesn’t feel the need to. And the Brigadier, well, he’s got two people willing to sit on the sofa and chat over him while he does his crossword. There’s not much that would indicate their commitment more clearly than that, really.

\-- -- -- -- --

Aggressive blobs of slime invade the base at nine am on Monday, which is bad planning on their part for multiple reasons.

The first is that anybody at work on a Monday morning is likely to be disgruntled in the first place. Annoying them is not a particularly clever idea, advice which applies in triplicate when the people being disturbed are trained soldiers with access to firearms.

The second is that after scrubbing the base from top to bottom on Friday evening, the cleaning lady and her personnel are not particularly pleased that there is now alien goo all over their previously spotless floors. While not strictly members of the military, they are nonetheless part of UNIT, and consequently their response is to launch buckets of bleach, Jeyes fluid and soapy water at them. The caustic chemicals turn out to be rather disagreeable to the gooey aliens.

The third is that the Brigadier doesn’t take kindly to having his base attacked on any day of the week. After the cleaning team have fallen back, he leads the assault to drive the remaining aliens back himself, puts Yates in charge of rounding up any that have split off from the main group, and sends Benton outside to cut off their escape route. The oozing creatures retreat under fire, attempt to regroup in the East wing, are foiled by the arrival of Yates’ men, and are finished off by Benton’s when they try to make it out through the window.

Fortunately there are no human casualties, although several of the living quarters in the east wing have been thoroughly spoiled by goo and gunfire, including the wreck that used to the Brigadier’s, Yates’ and Benton’s room.

“Oh no,” Benton says in dismay when he turns up and sees the mess.

Yates nudges a piece of sticky debris with his boot and says thoughtfully, “It’s not as if we’ve used it much recently, really.”

“Well, no,” Benton agrees, moving to stand next to him and look mournfully at the debris. “But where are going to drink tea together now?”

The Brigadier joins them over the contemplation of what might have once been a table but is now a mass of splinters embedded in slime. “I do have an office,” he reminds them.

“We can’t drink tea in there; people might walk in!”

“And see the three of us enjoying a jolly good cuppa? If their delicate sensibilities are offended by that, then UNIT isn’t the right place for them.”

“I don’t think that’s quite what Benton meant,” Yates remarks. “What he meant to say was that if people see us together, they’ll know what’s going on.”

The Brigadier snorts. “As if they don’t already?”

They share a look, and then turn their attention back out to the corridor, where everybody is going about their business and not paying the slightest bit of attention to the three of them.

Looking slightly more pleased than the situation warrants and standing just a little closer than professional limits dictate, they leave behind the room which they no longer need, and get on with sorting everything out before they’re needed again for the next extra-terrestrial crisis.

\-- -- -- -- --

They do eventually end up moving in together, which raises practically no eyebrows at work whatsoever. If the house is messier and noisier than it ever was before, it’s also warmer and feels like a home to three people who have previously only lived in barracks and flats and nondescript houses. They’re all more than willing to live with that, and each other.

\-- -- -- -- --

**Author's Note:**

> The 'tea and buggery' line is essentially fluffmugger's, as is the idea of the Brigadier meeting Jack. Credit and thanks, and apologies for stealing them ;)


End file.
